Mass Effect: Reformation
by Impyrium
Summary: "Another such victory…and we are undone." -King Pyrrhus of Epirus, 279 BCE. Seven years have passed since the Reaper War. The weakened races of the galaxy struggle to rebuild – a task made difficult when most star systems are stuck in isolation, unable to repair their Mass Relays. But mysteriously, those derelict relays begin to reactivate, and a crew is sent to investigate.
1. Liberty and Death

Author's Note: Hello! I'm Impyrium (obviously) and this is my first fanfic. Ever since I finished ME3, I've been playing with ideas in my head about what the ME universe would look like after the Crucible. This story will primarily rely on original characters, but I imagine a few established characters will make an appearance or two.

I imagine a 'post-ME3' fic is a pretty common choice, but hopefully my own spin on the post-ME3 landscape is interesting enough. Any and all reviews are greatly appreciated. But enough of my babbling, I hope you enjoy!

~#~#~#~

CHAPTER ONE: Liberty and Death

Nobody was happy about the mission. It was bad enough that the journey had to be made on foot, but traveling at night forced them to stumble through darkness, where an overcast sky made night-vision visors almost useless. They departed from the Roanoke supply camp around midnight and began their trek south, winding through the hilly terrain. It was cold for October, and for days the skies had been dreary, implicit with the promise of sleet or snow. A shuttle could have made their trip in less than an hour, but stealth was vital, and noise could carry easily over the empty landscape.

"The bastards could've at least dropped us off halfway." Private Nick Mullins grumbled quietly, but loud enough for his companions to hear. They all knew that the shuttle was an unnecessary risk, and that as veterans of the Systems Alliance, a six-hour night march was nothing. They also knew Pvt. Mullins was the type to gripe about trivial things, and so the leader of their expedition, Lieutenant Daniel Vaughn, chose to ignore it. In total, there were five men: all wearing dark gray hardsuits, with various heavy weapons strapped to their backs. And even though their gear was nearly identical, Lt. Vaughn was clearly the leader of this small group. The way he stood, and the way he moved over the rocky, uncertain terrain seemed to project an air of easy confidence. He had a lean face with a strong chin, marred only a short, deep scar. His dark green eyes were deep and intelligent, and as the group moved through the unfamiliar countryside, those eyes were perpetually scanning the area – continually noting possible ambush sites or easily defensible locations.

Hours passed in darkness. As they approached the crest of a steep hill, Vaughn held up a hand to bring the company to a halt. He crouched low and moved forward silently, and with the hand he had signaled to his squad, grasped the butt of a slim black rifle holstered on his back. As he drew it, the barrel extended, bringing the weapon to its full length. It was a Black Widow sniper rifle, one of two weapons he had carried during the war. There were several scratches and a few chips of paint missing along the barrel while the butt of the rifle was scuffed and showed a noticeable dent, as if it had been used as a bludgeon. But despite the cosmetic defects of the weapon, it was well-maintained. The lenses of the scope were clear and pristine, and vents along the barrel were devoid of all debris. A fresh thermal clip sat in its housing, with the ejection mechanism oiled for a smooth, quick reload.

It was nearly dawn now, and the bleak sky began to cast the landscape in its pale morning light. As Vaughn reached the hill's apex, he slid onto his stomach, and crawled until he had a decent view of the ground below. He mentally breathed a sigh of relief – use of his omni-tool with its luminous orange glow would've been yet another unnecessary risk, and so he had been forced to follow a hastily drawn map. There was a nagging worry at the back of his mind that he was leading his men in the wrong direction. However, his fears had been groundless, for below him were the ruins of a small city. As he looked into the rifle's scope, the tripod attachment at the end of the barrel extended to stabilize it.

It was hard to say how big the town had once been. At the end of the town furthest away from Vaughn, there was a crater, evidence of what had likely destroyed most of the city. During orbital combat, it was standard procedure for warships to equip missiles with basic VI programs. The more advanced VI's onboard the ship would provide targeting solutions, but the chaos of battle gave rise to uncertainty. The missile's VI would detect if it had missed the target, thus triggering a disarming protocol. By the time it slammed to earth there would still be damage, but only a fraction of its destructive power would be unleashed.

There was a cluster of ravaged buildings in the part of town closest to Vaughn, outside the radius of the doomed warhead's impact. Three of them looked completely uninhabitable. Through his rifle scope, Vaughn noted familiar scarring on the ground – evidence of a Reaper Destroyer's main weapon. Even after seven years, the charred earth still remained as evidence of their merciless destruction.

Vaughn heard quiet movement behind him and felt the presence of a figure sliding on the ground.

"I bet it was the turians." A deep voice muttered, likely referring to the crater. "Too cocky. Always felt like they didn't need a VI to aim properly."

"A tempting shortcut to make." Vaughn observed tonelessly as he continued surveying the ruins for signs of life. "Those Sovereign ships were hard to miss."

"Well…somebody sure as hell did."

Vaughn had not signaled for Corporal Alexander Volkov to join him on the hill, but Alex had always taken certain liberties when dealing with his superior officer. They had fought side by side through the entirety of the Reaper War when both of them had been stranded on Earth. Together, they had survived countless skirmishes against overwhelming forces. But then the tide of war had turned in their favor. The races of the galaxy pinned their hopes of survival on a single battle, and hundreds of ships converged above Reaper-controlled Earth. And with them they brought a weapon of immense power – the Crucible.

Vaughn could still remember it: a desperate night of blood, fire, and the omnipresent staccato of weapons fire. But suddenly the sky had turned an ethereal crimson, and it had taken Vaughn a second to realize that he was seeing a massive shockwave. He had fully expected to die then, but the energy passed over him harmlessly.

That mysterious energy had killed the Reapers, but there had been sacrifices. The Geth, a sentient robotic race who had become unlikely allies, had also perished. Then, within minutes of the Crucible's firing, the entire mass relay network had been rendered inert. By transmitting such a massive amount of energy, the mass relays overloaded their element zero cores, and shattered their gyroscopic rings.

Major star systems had enough survivors and resources to repair their mass relays, but the same could not be said of colonial systems hit hard by the war. By official estimates, nearly two-thirds of the network remained dark. And so, in the seven years since victory, humanity was still rebuilding, but slowly. With the galaxy a much smaller place, Vaughn had remained on Earth as a member of the Systems Alliance Civil Security, guarding humanity's slow reclamation of civilization. A loyal friend, Alex was never far from his side.

Alex was nearly a decade older than Vaughn, who himself was thirty-one. His coarse black hair had begun to show traces of gray, but nobody doubted the older man's fighting prowess. He stood nearly half a foot taller than Vaughn and had thick powerful arms. Alex was also a biotic, equipped with experimental amps and cybernetic augmentations foreign to the Systems Alliance. This was because Alex was not always a member of the Alliance, but had spent most of his adult life in Cerberus: a renegade organization, devoted to the advancement of humanity through any means. He had defected only weeks before the Reaper invasion of Earth, and during the slaughter, he had met up with Vaughn.

Vaughn wondered if Alex's short tirade on turian arrogance was a relic of all those years in Cerberus. The organization's morally dubious actions caused many to brand Cerberus as terrorists, who loathed anything alien. Alex had once admitted that he held no particular love for aliens, but fiercely denied being xenophobic. Vaughn liked the man so he rarely tried to push the issue.

"There. The small warehouse at ten o' clock." Vaughn spoke and increased the sniper rifle's magnification to its highest setting. It was difficult to tell at that distance in the faint light, but he could just barely see a lone figure in a window, with what appeared to be an M-8 Avenger slung across his back.

"I see him." Alex replied as he peered through his binoculars. Vaughn thought he noted a melancholy tone in his friend's voice, but he ignored it and holstered his rifle. He started to slide back down the hill toward the rest of his men, giving Alex the order to stay behind and keep an eye out for enemy movement.

"We've got a visual on their base." Vaughn spoke curtly to his remaining three men. "Check your weapons and be ready." He noted the troubled and sullen looks as they began to inspect their guns. He empathized with their discomfort, but made his voice harsh. "If any of you don't have what it takes for this, you can start walking back. **Now**."

"You can count on us, sir." Private Tom Morales spoke, and was echoed in agreement by Private Braiden Sterling and Private Nick Mullins.

Vaughn drew his second weapon, a N7 Typhoon assault rifle. It was a heavy firearm, thanks to a kinetic reducer meant to reduce its high recoil. Most found the weapon clumsy and inaccurate, but Vaughn was used to its weight through years of constant use. Similarly, the weapon's notorious instability was of little concern to the lieutenant – by merely squeezing the trigger, he felt as if his body could sense how the muzzle would pull. His muscles would tense and react, and although it never became a precision weapon by any means, he was far more accurate with it than most.

There came the familiar clicks as the soldiers checked their weapons – ensuring thermal clips were fresh, ammo blocks were housed firmly, and scopes were sighted accurately. Vaughn noted that his men began to fix concussive rounds to the secondary muzzles of their N7 Valkyrie rifles. They were relatively slow shots meant to explode upon impact, but with a force that was rarely fatal if aimed correctly. He preferred to let his men fight with what they found comfortable, especially when a lack of supplies made it difficult to enforce a standard load-out. But the fact that they chose concussive rounds was telling, and Vaughn gloomily reflected on what he already knew – nobody was happy about the mission.

A week prior, a supply convoy from Fort Providence had been ambushed. The convoy's meager, token escort had been overwhelmed and much-needed medicine was stolen. There had been only one gravely-wounded survivor. She reported seeing humans: organized, well-armed, and brutal. In the seven years since the war, this kind of violence was unheard of. It wasn't to say that mankind's near brush with annihilation had extinguished its vices. Murders and crimes of passion or greed still happened occasionally and were dealt with by the Systems Alliance, who had assumed leadership over the planetary government. But after all the horrors the people of Earth had endured, there seemed to be a tacit understanding that unity was vital. Indeed, the last seven years for Lieutenant Daniel Vaughn were relatively peaceful. Missions involved scaring off the occasional band of off-world smugglers, or culling varren: alien beasts that had somehow bred and thrived on the North American continent. But now, it seemed somebody was in open rebellion.

An intelligence unit had tracked the raiders to these abandoned city ruins. It was estimated there were about a dozen of them armed inside the building. Vaughn was confident he could accomplish the mission with just the five including himself, but he would've preferred a larger force.

~#~#~#~

It was a two-story warehouse, with a line of broken, second-floor windows across the long faces of the building. Part of the wall on the ground floor had crumbled, leaving behind a cavernous entrance roughly ten feet wide. In the dirt leading up to the breach, Vaughn noted tire tracks, and judged by the depth that something heavy had driven inside. At one point, the breach must have included the door to the warehouse, for there were no other entrances.

Vaughn assessed the front of the building from behind a mound of rubble, which had likely been a house at one point. The size of the shattered heap had made it possible for them to approach unseen by the sentry, but it was as far as they could go. There were approximately 150 yards of open ground between the collapsed house and the breach. It was still early in the morning, and Vaughn knew that most of the defenders would not be alert. But he also knew that a mad dash toward the entrance could quickly turn suicidal if somebody noticed his approach. His squad looked toward him expectantly. He considered his options for a few moments and then gave the orders.

Pvt. Sterling and Pvt. Mullins were tasked with remaining behind the rubble, and shooting anybody that appeared at the windows. The building was dark inside, but the row of windows on the opposite side of the building faced east, providing some light so any figure inside the building would be visible as a silhouette. Lt. Vaughn, Cpl. Volkov, and Pvt. Morales all prepared to rush forward.

"The Alliance needs that medicine, and we don't know how they'll react when threatened. When we make our way to the second floor, we can worry about taking prisoners." Vaughn hissed to his men. "Until that time, neutralize all hostile targets." He received nods in response; they might not have been happy about killing humans – fellow survivors – but they were professionals. They were soldiers.

Pvt. Sterling raised his sniper rifle and squinted into the scope's eyepiece. Above, the sentry stared blankly at the seemingly empty countryside. He had just opened his mouth, and lifted a hand to his face in the beginnings of a yawn, when Pvt. Sterling pulled the trigger.

It began as a quiet hum from within the rifle, as it generated a tiny mass effect field to envelop the bullet. Then the sound of the hum suddenly increased in a violent crescendo, as the mass accelerator magnetically repulsed the bullet, hurling it at a supersonic velocity toward the target. The distinct noise shattered the silence of the hills, and without bothering to watch the sentry fall, Vaughn ran.

His feet kicked up clouds of gray dust as he sprinted forward. He could hear Pvt. Morales right behind him. In his peripheral vision, he saw Alex dashing to the side of the building, working his way to the warehouse's rear. Vaughn was halfway to the breach when he heard a yell above him, quickly followed by the sound of a second sniper shot from behind. He ignored it and kept his gaze fixed on entrance in front him, trusting in the cover fire of Pvts. Sterling and Mullins. His finger was resting lightly on the Typhoon's trigger, anticipating the emergence of enemies at any moment.

There suddenly came the sound of automatic rifle fire from above him, but too late. Vaughn had already reached the building, thudding into the wall next to the large gap. He heard Morales skid to a halt next to him, allowed himself a second to breathe, and then darted inside.

There were about a dozen crates scattered across the warehouse floor, and two stolen Alliance supply vehicles parked at the far end of the building. Not far from where Vaughn and Morales entered, a single set of stairs led upwards to a balcony and the second floor. Apparently, the extent of the second floor only occupied a small portion of the building's southern end. A sudden flash of movement sprang out from behind one of the crates. A man, dressed in muddy clothes pointed a heavy pistol at Vaughn. Instinctively, the lieutenant strafed left while raising his weapon. A short burst of fire erupted from his rifle's muzzle, at the same instant a shot fired from the enemy's pistol. Vaughn felt the impact of the shot as only a weak push against his left shoulder. A few inches from his body, near the shoulder, there showed what appeared to be a sudden blue crackle of electricity. His shields, the kinetic barrier meant to stop high-velocity projectiles, had blocked the bullet. The man with the pistol was not so lucky. Vaughn had been trained to fire in bursts long enough to deplete an enemy's shields, but this man either had none, or didn't have the time to equip them when the attack started. Without even body armor, the bullets from the N7 Typhoon transformed the man's torso into scarlet ruin. He wordlessly slumped to the ground.

From behind him came the sudden hiss of depressurized gas as Morales fired his single concussive shot. At the top of the stairs another man had appeared, his assault rifle leveled at Vaughn's head. But before he could pull the trigger, the concussive shot blasted into the shoulder opposite where he held the weapon, spinning the man wildly off balance. He yelled out in pain, but in his attempt to regain footing, tripped forward down the flight of stairs. With a cry of alarm, he slipped over the staircase railing and landed with a thud on the concrete floor below. He groaned once and was quiet. Morales ran to kick the weapon away from the man's unconscious body.

"Second floor room, pick any of the three southern-most windows. Over." Vaughn spoke quickly, relaying the information to Alex over his helmet's communicator.

"Roger that. Just give me the word."

Three men burst from the doorway at the top of the stairs and opened fire simultaneously, ducking behind the thick steel railings of the balcony. Vaughn dove behind a supply crate while Morales crouched under the stairwell, the closest cover he could find. A steady hail of gunfire poured down at the two soldiers, completely suppressing any return fire.

"Now!"

~#~#~#~

Alexander Volkov took a deep breath and exhaled, until his lungs were completely free of air. He disliked this part. He had done it many times, but it always seemed to leave him a bit nauseous, and thinking about what was being done to his body made him uneasy. Cerberus shock troopers were often equipped with what was colloquially named a "jetpack". In truth, the device merely allowed a trooper to descend from great heights without breaking his legs, rather than propel him upwards. As a shock trooper, Alex had used such devices many times, until he had been selected to prototype an experimental version.

Alex stood a few feet from the wall, on the opposite side of the building from where Vaughn had entered. He concentrated and formed an egg-shaped biotic barrier around his body, to occupy the same space as his existing kinetic shields. A sudden burst of pressurized gas released from the pack he wore, and a negative electric current passed through the modified eezo core. He felt a sudden sensation of weightlessness as the mass of his body plummeted. Alex shot up vertically, reaching the zenith of his flight as he reached the second-floor window. Before he could fall back to earth, he released a secondary burst of gas to hurl himself forward, through one of the empty windows. There was barely enough room for a man of Alex's size to fit through such a window, but he had timed the maneuver to perfection. As his body made contact with the floor, he rolled, and as he came upright again, drew his M-300 Claymore shotgun in a single fluid motion. The bandits on the second floor were facing snipers from the west and assault rifles from the north, but they had never expected somebody to come through the windows.

He held the shotgun with just his left hand. With a deafening blast, he fired once in the space between two surprised bandits three feet away. Recoil from the shotgun was like the kick of a horse, but his immense strength held the weapon in check. The tiny hyper-accelerated particles scattered in the air, and both men were down instantly in fine mists of blood. The devastation of the weapon burned out the thermal clip instantly, but Alex already held a replacement in his right hand. Sensing movement to his right, he turned his newly loaded shotgun and fired again. This man had shielding, and when the projectiles made contact, his whole body seemed enveloped by the crackling blue distortion – but only for a second. Almost instantly, his shielding failed under the onslaught, and he fell backwards with a wet thud. A bandit sheltering next to one of the western windows turned to gape at Alex in disbelief. In his shock, he had utterly forgotten about the snipers, and before he could react, jerked forward with a bullet in his skull. There were two more enemies in the room, but Alex ignored them for the moment and sprinted to the balcony's doorway.

The three men on the balcony above Vaughn and Morales temporarily halted their fire at the sound of shotgun blasts. But as the corporal came through the door, they all turned and leveled their weapons at him. In the instant Alex had first opened fire, Vaughn and Morales knew they had their opportunity. Morales was first to the top of the stairs, and fired two precise rounds that caught a man in the throat. He fell to his knees and dropped his weapon, a gurgling sound bubbling from his mouth. Vaughn followed and fired his lone concussive shot, this one catching a man full force in the chest. The might of the small explosion knocked the man to the ground, sliding him along until a wall brought him to a halt. He lay stunned for a second and then gasped for breath, the wind knocked from him, and several of his ribs likely broken. The final man managed to fire a few shots at Alex, but his biotic barrier and shields had yet to be hit, and so they held. Alex stretched out a hand enveloped in cerulean biotic energy, and the remaining bandit found himself pulled forward violently, right into a waiting fist.

The three Alliance soldiers rushed into the larger room, but the two surviving bandits merely raised their hands in surrender, their discarded weapons at their feet. They stared at the large ex-Cerberus soldier in wide-eyed fright, and backed away nervously when he stepped forward to confiscate their guns. He proceeded to restrain them with magnetic arm and leg shackles. The entirety of the battle had lasted less than five minutes.

Vaughn gazed at the bloody corpses strewn about the room, and pulled off his helmet. He ran a hand over short brown hair made damp by sweat, and took a deep breath. The fight was over, and he started to feel pangs of remorse at the need for killing. However, he knew such feelings were the luxuries of victory, in which all his men had survived.

"Sir." Morales spoke quietly, and motioned his gun toward the back of the room where there was yet another door, but this one was shut. By the dimensions of the building and this room, Vaughn judged that this door couldn't have led to anything other than a small closet. Slowly, the knob began to turn. Wordlessly, the three soldiers spread out, so as not to form a single target for whomever came from within. With a quiet click, the door opened slightly, and then began to squeak as it was pushed open.

Vaughn blinked in surprise, but held his weapon firmly. Two women stepped from the dark closet. One was human, with unkempt brown hair and a haggard face with deep lines. She held a pistol aimed at the head of the woman in front of her. The hostage was a drell. Her large obsidian eyes blinked rapidly as they adjusted to the light. Her scales were a milky white with subtle pink accents on her cheeks, forehead, and neck.

Vaughn silently cursed to himself. Nobody knew there was a hostage. If he had known, he would've prioritized her safety in planning the attack. The woman with the gun glanced at her dead comrades on the floor and scowled.

"You Alliance lapdog bastards." She spat her words at Vaughn, staring at him with pure hatred.

"Put down the gun." He kept his voice flat and emotionless, although he could feel anger rising inside him. Vaughn despised such cowardly tactics. In his mind, he began to mentally judge the distance between him and the hostage-taker, wondering if he could control the gun's muzzle climb for a single shot between her eyes. But as if the woman were reading his thoughts, she pulled the drell back until she was safely in the alien's shadow, thus denying him a clean shot. Vaughn noted that she took care to stay out of sight from the western windows, where Sterling and Mullins were undoubtedly trying to get her in their sights.

"Goddamn cowards." was her only answer.

"That's fine talk coming from someone who steals medicine, and points guns at civilians." Alex growled, and Vaughn shot him a warning look; he didn't want to provoke any rash actions in such a delicate situation. The woman gave a mocking laugh.

"That's a little hypocritical, isn't it? I recognize Cerberus tech when I see it, tin man." Alex said nothing, but Vaughn could notice his friend tensing. During the Reaper War, Cerberus had committed butchery against thousands of civilians to further their goals. It was later discovered this was due to Reaper influence, but the issue was a sensitive one to Alex.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Vaughn chimed in quickly, in an attempt to change the subject back to negotiation.

"Commander Kate Sinclair. Well, **former **commander, so no need to salute me, Lieutenant Daniel Vaughn." She spoke with bitter sarcasm. "I heard a bit about you when I was still enlisted. N7's sure are a rarity these days." Her tone was calmer than before, but there was still a detectable hint of rage below the surface. "I would congratulate you on your little victory Lt. Vaughn, but we all know tin man here did most of the work. And on top of that, you fought a half-diseased band of civilian militia. Not much of a fight there."

"What do you **want**?" Vaughn repeated the question again, but this time he let an edge of hostility slip into his voice.

"What we deserve." Commander Sinclair replied simply, as if the answer were obvious. "We survive the Reapers – and for what? The Systems Alliance takes everything. The Alliance was meant to represent us to the galaxy and nothing more. They were meant to answer to the nations of Earth, not dominate them."

"The Reapers wiped out all forms of government." Morales protested. "The Alliance is the only one left with any semblance of organization. They **saved **us from the Reapers."

"They let it happen by ignoring the threat in the first place." She responded with derision. "We had evidence of the invasion three years before the Reapers showed at our doorstep. But everybody just stuck their heads in the sand. And in the seven years since the war, how much actual talk have you heard about transferring power? We elect our civilian advisors, sure, but the Admirals make all the decisions. They pay lip service about how they'll cede power when Earth is fully rebuilt, but that will take a whole generation. And by then, nobody will remember or care how it once was."

"So what do you hope to accomplish with ambushes? With hostage-taking? With murder?" Vaughn spoke with fervor, but he had been surprised at the commander's words. He was used to taking orders from the Systems Alliance, having done so for much of his life. And public opinion of the Systems Alliance was incredibly high, as most people could still recall the night when Admiral Hackett led a galactic fleet to rescue Earth. But despite that, he knew there was a grain of truth in Commander Sinclair's words. The Systems Alliance had imposed what was essentially martial law, regulating the supplies people received, where they could settle, and whether they could travel off-world.

"If they won't give us freedom, we take it. We find one of the ruined cities they abandoned out west, and build something for ourselves. But for that, we need supplies. Nobody had to die at that supply convoy, but your people fired first."

"And what about her?" Vaughn jerked his head toward the drell.

"We don't have doctors – yet. We needed somebody to make sense of all that medicine in those crates."

"You speak of freedom, and yet you'll **enslave** people?"

"We'll borrow her for a few months, and then release her. We'll even compensate her for her efforts. We're not like the damn Alliance, who steal power and cling to it indefinitely. Besides, they already get plenty of aid on loan from the Galactic Council. For all we fought for…and for all we lost on Earth while the damned Alliance was playing politics, they owe us!" Commander Sinclair was nearly yelling now, and Vaughn noticed for the first time that she was perspiring, and swaying ever so slightly. Her voice dropped to a barely audible murmur. "They owe us…" She shook her head. "It's not like the drell was my idea anyway. This is a human matter."

"She is correct. It was that one who ambushed me and took me prisoner." For the first time, the drell spoke, and motioned at one of the bloody corpses on the floor, whose blood had begun to pool near their feet. Her voice was quiet and had the distinct, raspy tone that all drell possessed, but being female, the pitch was higher.

"You shut up!" Commander Sinclair hissed venomously and for a heartbeat, Vaughn was worried the pistol would fire.

"You are under extreme stress and suffering from a fever. You are not well and require medical attention." The drell persisted in a calm tone of voice. Her head turned slightly to look into the commander's wild eyes.

"I said SHUT UP!" She moved to strike the drell with the butt of her gun in a swift, chopping motion. Vaughn nearly took the opportunity to fire a shot at the woman, but a sudden blur of movement made him hesitate. The drell had spun around, pushing away the hand that held the gun, as if the commander were just a child. The pistol fired once, but the shot embedded itself harmlessly in the floor. Following that, with movements that reminded Vaughn of a dancer's grace, the drell moved behind her captor and placed a single hand on her neck before anybody could react. The hand glowed with biotic energy that seemed to vanish as soon as it appeared. Commander Sinclair went limp, the gun falling from her hand, and her body falling to the floor. The drell caught her and lowered her gently.

Vaughn and Alex both rushed forward with their weapons ready. The drell held up her hand and motioned for them to stop.

"She will trouble you no longer." Her eyes locked with Vaughn's. "I was not lying when I said she required medical attention. I believe you have other wounded in this building. Bring them to me, call for your shuttle, and I will do what I can." Her orders given, she turned back to the commander and began to monitor her pulse.

For a moment, Vaughn was stunned by the turn of events. He had been sure that more death was inevitable that morning, but the drell had moved with such speed and precision he had never seen before. He motioned to Alex and Morales. "Get Sterling and Mullins, and bring the wounded up here." They nodded and hurried out the door.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Daniel Vaughn." The drell spoke, but did not turn from the examination of her patient. "My name is Amari Draylos. I believe that I – and the Council – owe you a great deal."


	2. New Albany

CHAPTER TWO: New Albany

It had begun to rain. Lieutenant Daniel Vaughn and Corporal Alexander Volkov were alone in the shuttle listening to the patter of raindrops, interspersed with the occasional muffled expletive from the pilot outside. Three shuttles had been called in after Vaughn's successful assault on the warehouse. The first had been carrying a team of medics with emergency supplies of medi-gel, and were subsequently loaded with the dead and wounded. The drell, Amari Draylos, boarded this shuttle as well – never far from her new patients who had once been her captors. Vaughn had wanted to talk more about her presence on Earth, and what she had meant about the Council owing him a debt. However, after her brief introduction to him, she had asked the soldier to leave the room so she could work – although not unkindly.

The second and third shuttles carried Systems Alliance personnel, who began to load the retrieved supplies onto the land vehicles the bandits had stolen. Privates Mullins, Sterling, and Morales embarked on one shuttle, to travel back to their postings at bases further south. Before they left, Vaughn shook the hands of all three men, commending them on a successful mission. It had been years since Vaughn fought alongside fully-trained Alliance marines, and he was fiercely proud of how they could carry out perfectly-executed maneuvers on such short notice.

Stepping aboard the final shuttle, Vaughn and Alex were prepared to head back north, to their own assignments in the refugee city of New Albany. Pre-flight checks, however, indicated that the coolant pumps to the starboard thrusters were down, and so the shuttle pilot found himself cursing in the rain, trying to repair the damage. Using the aircraft for short-range transportation was somewhat of a luxury due to a shortage of supplies, but Vaughn knew that many of the shuttle parts were scavenged from derelict ships ruined by the war. An engineer back in New Albany had joked that many of the shuttles were held together by "duct tape and a prayer". Vaughn grimaced at the dilapidated state of the shuttle he now inhabited.

He wryly reflected that it might be safer to walk back to New Albany, despite the varren-infested countryside. But then he yawned, for an all-night march – coupled with the fading presence of adrenaline in his system – was quickly leaving him exhausted. A muscle in his neck had started to ache from the fatigue, and he gingerly tried to stretch it.

"You might catch some sleep now – Captain Vincent's gonna want a report the second we get back." Alex had been watching his commanding officer's discomfort with grim amusement.

"Just bored, that's all." lied Vaughn. He didn't want to appear weak in front of his corporal, who always seemed perfectly fine on minimal sleep. The lieutenant had a suspicion that Alex's Cerberus implants and augmentations were part of the reason.

"Yeah, I'm sure that's it." Alex began to pick at a hole in his armrest's faux-leather cushioning, which had already begun to crack open. "My god, I can't remember the last time I've seen a shuttle in a shape this bad. She's falling apart at the seams."

"I'm half-tempted to go outside and ask if that pilot needs any help."

"You?" Alex snorted. "I remember a certain lieutenant who took twenty minutes to replace a simple circuit board, just to get one of those military rovers up and running."

Vaughn waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "It was dark, and we were under fire. Besides, who can think about the proper wiring with **that** damn thing blasting my eardrums every ten seconds?" He pointed at Alex's shotgun, which hung on the wall's weapon rack.

Both men chuckled. It was easier to laugh about such events when obscured by the mists of time, but Vaughn then thought about how desperate that little skirmish had been years ago, with Reaper Husks and Marauders converging in ever greater numbers on their position. Vaughn remembered that one of his soldiers had been wounded during their escape, and had been hauled into one of the backseats once the vehicle was operational. She had died there – bled out. He tried to remember her name. There were just so many during those hellish months...Vaughn's grin withered away.

"Hey, about what ex-Commander Sinclair said..." Vaughn's voice turned serious as he mentioned the rebel leader they had just captured in the warehouse.

"Yeah? What about that psycho?" Raising an eyebrow, Alex looked at his friend with noticeable surprise at the conversation's change in tone.

"She seems convinced that the Alliance will never give up its role in humanity's government. You ever wonder about that?"

"I take it you're worried that we're witnessing the rise of some military dictatorship, a 'new human empire'?" Alex shook his head and lifted a hand, moving his index finger and thumb half an inch apart. "As a species, we came **this **close to extinction. And then we lost most of our colonies when the mass relay network went down. It's seven years later, and things are still desperate enough that two war heroes have to risk their lives in a shuttle built out of scrap metal. It may not be perfect, but a firm grip on the wheel is how we rebuild. It's what humanity needs right now." Alexander Volkov was usually a grim, dour man, but he was fiercely passionate when speaking of his ideals regarding mankind.

"We're war heroes now, are we?" Vaughn scoffed, but a grin betrayed his amusement.

"Damn straight. And if it weren't for the fact that this postwar army only promotes bureaucrats, you and I would probably be admirals by now." Alex returned a cynical half-smile.

Vaughn sighed. "Screw it, you win."

"Oh? Have I convinced you?"

"Yeah. You've completely convinced me that I'll need some sleep if I'm going to spend my afternoon being lectured at." His eyelids were starting to feel heavy. "Wake me when we reach New Albany, if that poor wet bastard out there ever fixes the damn shuttle."

~#~#~#~

Several weeks had passed since the events at the warehouse, and Vaughn found himself settling back into his old routine as part of Civil Security. He had been hoping to hear back from the mysterious drell, but after he submitted his report, he heard nothing other than a brief message from Rear Admiral Shankar thanking him for his efforts. Similarly, the news that was broadcast about the events mentioned nothing about Amari, or the specifics of Commander Sinclair's rebellious ambitions.

Vaughn's days were mostly spent coordinating his men throughout the city of New Albany. In a sense, they were a police force. They took charge of security for the city's handful of Alliance buildings, but they were also responsible for patrolling streets and responding to any criminal complaints. But there wasn't too much criminal activity, for people were generally friendly and focused on their work. The city of New Albany was responsible for several factories, hydroelectric plants along the Hudson River, and a salvage yard where scrap from the ruins of Old Albany were still brought for refurbishing.

One icy morning, Vaughn was at the salvage yard, overseeing the processing of a Reaper Destroyer's corpse. Finding the dead monstrosities in the countryside was increasingly rare, but given the sheer number of Reapers that had attacked Earth, it wasn't shocking to still find them. Their husks were fragile – whatever the Crucible had done to the Reapers seemed to significantly weaken their metallic bodies. Initially, it was hoped that the mysterious high-tensile alloy could be studied or reused, but scientists quickly found that almost none of the remains were useful. Indoctrination was no longer a worry either, for there had been no new reports of the phenomenon since the war's end. Victims of indoctrination during the war were still undergoing significant mental treatments, but doctors had reported that some small progress was being made.

Vaughn shoved his hands into the pockets just below his body armor's chest piece. It was his formal combat uniform, complete with the N7 insignia he had earned just before the war. The dark blue and gray hardsuit helped a little in keeping himself warm, but he had forgotten to bring gloves with him. Cursing himself for his forgetfulness, he paced a few steps to try and generate some warmth. The crisp air resounded with the noise of machinery as workers sliced through the dead machine's carapace. He caught a glimpse of the Reaper's lifeless 'face' with its cracked optical hemisphere and scowled, feeling the reemergence of bad memories.

"Are you expecting a fight, or do you always dress in body armor?" A familiar voice called out from behind Vaughn. It was Amari Draylos.

She was wearing a dark gray overcoat, with a hood pulled over the reptilian frills on top of her head. Her pale face with its pink accents smiled at him from underneath the hood, her color in stark contrast to the coat. Alex was standing a few feet behind her, but true to the man's stoic nature, he seemed unaffected by the cold. Vaughn was taken aback by the unexpected visit, but answered in what he deemed his best officer's tone.

"Standard procedure, ma'am. When processing a dead Reaper, it's required that at least one combat-ready Alliance soldier be present."

"I see. But please, call me Amari." Stepping next to him, the drell hugged the overcoat closer to her body and watched the salvage workers toil away. Alex stayed back and let the two have their private conversation. "Is it just me, or do they seem rather cheerful?" asked Amari, referring to the workers.

"I imagine there's something cathartic about cutting up a Reaper, and tossing him into the trash bin." Vaughn observed.

"But you seem tense, am I correct?"

Vaughn stiffened – had he really been so transparent? "It...it was a long war. I was on Earth during the occupation, and I saw my fair share of them in action."

"Oh." She seemed to realize how uncomfortable she had made him. "Forgive me please; I sometimes forget that not every person I speak to is a patient." Amari smiled and gestured to Alex. "Corporal Volkov was kind enough to show me where to find you. I spoke with Captain Vincent when I arrived here, and she's agreed to have you show me the city." Hearing his name, Alex stepped forward a few paces.

"I'll keep an eye on things here, sir." The ex-Cerberus soldier gave a curt nod to Vaughn.

Vaughn accepted, and led the drell back toward the city's center. Most of the city was busy at work, but a few were present on the sidewalks, and they glanced curiously at the alien. The buildings were relatively new, and nearly identical, all having been constructed around the same time five years prior. The wide, tinted glass windows and fresh ceramic paints reflected the late autumn sun to an almost dazzling glare. The roads and pedestrian walkways between the buildings were smooth even surfaces, made of the tiny micro-solar panels that brought power to much of the city during the day. It was an impressive sight, but Vaughn knew that if one were to look twenty miles in any direction, there would only be the ruins where weeds prospered.

"Captain Vincent didn't offer to show you the city herself?" asked Vaughn. Captain Amelia Vincent was hardly the type of person to avoid off-world guests, and miss out on showing what New Albany had accomplished since the war.

"Oh, she was very welcoming. But I mentioned that I specifically wanted to talk to you." Vaughn opened his mouth to inquire further, but Amari continued. "I must say, I'm rather unused to this frigid weather. Is there somewhere warmer we could go?"

Vaughn and Amari headed for a small coffee shop near the town's residential district. He ordered a coffee for himself, but the drell was ecstatic on learning that the shop also carried green tea.

"I spent a few months studying at a medical center near Beijing." She explained as they cupped their hands around the steaming mugs. "There was a brilliant doctor there, a Dr. Jiang, and he introduced me to the drink. I imagine I have to be a bit more careful around the steam being a drell and all, but I can't resist." The beverages were made from freeze dried powders that tasted weak and bitter, but neither of the pair seemed to mind.

"So you're a doctor, studying on Earth?" Vaughn asked.

"Ah, yes. I'm primarily a surgeon, but I've done extensive study on internal medicine as well."

"And your focus is on humans?"

"Focus? Not quite." Amari took a sip from her drink. "I've also spent time on Palaven, Thessia, Sur'Kesh...just about every major homeworld we have still have access to. As you know, we drell possess eidetic memories, which is quite a useful trait to have when learning alien biology. My proficiency in biotics has also been helpful."

"Your biotics? Like, what you did back at that warehouse?"

Amari nodded. "Many drell possess biotic abilities, but mine developed a bit differently. I'm not exactly capable of throwing somebody across the room, but for what I lack in brute force, I make up for in precision." To demonstrate this, she extended a finger and pointed at a bowl of sugar cubes that sat between them. Her fingertip glowed with biotic energy, and as she touched one of the cubes, it promptly separated into nine smaller ones, perfect and identical. "With the right medical imaging devices, I can sometimes perform surgery without breaking the skin."

"So you're a...biotic surgeon?" Vaughn's eyebrows rose in surprise. "I've never heard of anybody like that before."

"The asari have records of several throughout their history." Amari smiled humbly. "But to delicately move arteries and organs with mass effect fields, as well as make incisions with finely edged kinetic barriers...it requires delicacy. Such fine control over biotic abilities is rare, but it can make the surgery go very quickly, allowing one to treat a larger number of patients. It also helps when operating in environments that may lack sterile equipment."

Vaughn was beginning to understand. "So you can look at a patient, and instantly start cutting away as soon as you note the species?"

"Exactly. A drell never forgets." She gave a short laugh.

"And the Council has been arranging for you to study alien physiology?"

"They have indeed."

Vaughn leaned forward, sensing he was close to a mystery that was nagging him. "I understand that having a biotic surgeon with a perfect memory is an amazing asset, but for the Council to take such an interest and spend all those resources - is there a specific reason?" Vaughn asked the question and Amari considered it for a moment.

"It...It is not my place to say, unfortunately. I would tell you if I could." She seemed embarrassed and the conversation settled into an awkward silence. "I'm sorry." The drell gave him a sheepish look.

"I understand." answered Vaughn, although he felt a pang of disappointment. "Being 'under orders' and all that, it's the same here in the Systems Alliance."

"You're an N7, right? I haven't seen many of those." Amari seemed eager to change the subject.

"It's an elite rank that not many earn, and the war didn't do much to help our numbers." Vaughn said truthfully. "But with so many postwar resources tied up in reconstruction, the program hasn't been reinstated yet." He shrugged. "And so, the few of us you see now are just relics from a different time."

"Just like the Council's Spectre program." Amari observed. "The war...what was it like? I was only 15, living in one of the domed cities on Kahje."

"I..." started Vaughn. He always felt awkward talking about the war, unless it was with people that had been there themselves, and could understand the complex emotions behind it. But there was something disarming about Amari, perhaps from her years of honing a doctor's bedside manner. "I led a resistance group that operated over the east coast of North America. It was guerilla tactics, mostly. You hit them hard and run like hell. We had a nice little network set up so that if a force of ground troops went on the move, we could be there to strike."

"You also successfully attacked a few Reaper processing camps, correct?" Amari must have realized the look Vaughn gave her, for she hastily added: "The Alliance Command was nice enough to let me read a few reports about the war, including yours."

"Um, yeah. I mean, all we could ever really manage was to grab a couple dozen prisoners at a time." Vaughn shook his head. "And it was never easy...it always came at a price."

"I know it must have been difficult making choices like that." She paused, briefly seeming to consider her next question. "Leading so many people in such an uncertain situation...what was that like for you?"

Vaughn had a peculiar feeling: a vague sense of _deja_ vu, in that he was reminded of his pre-N7 interviews years ago. Sipping his coffee to buy himself a few seconds, he thought about the question. It was such a nebulous concept, one that he had never really put into words.

"Well...when you know you're fighting a war that you're slowly losing, it's tough. People look to you for orders, and if they don't have that structure, many of them will just break and run. I've seen it before – when people panic like that, they're as good as dead. And so, you have to earn their trust, and they can't see you have any doubts or worries. But when they have that trust in you – when they have that structure? Ultimately, I suppose good leadership is what allows a group to become greater than the sum of its parts."

"Of course." Amari nodded fervently.

They continued to talk for the better part of an hour, discussing the ongoing projects in New Albany, and of all the places Amari had visited during her assignments on Earth. Vaughn had offered to pay for their drinks, but Amari insisted otherwise, citing her travel budget afforded by the Council. Then, assuring him that she could find her way back to the city hall building, Vaughn was once again left alone, with more unanswered questions about the enigmatic drell.

~#~#~#~

A few days later, Vaughn was called into the office of Captain Amelia Vincent. Ever since Amari's visit, she had seemed slightly annoyed with the lieutenant, as if he were somehow to blame for monopolizing the drell's attention. Her tightly pursed lips seemed to suggest that her irritation had not yet abated.

"Lieutenant Vaughn." She stood from her desk, holding a slim folder in her hands. "I have just gotten word from Real Admiral Shankar. You have an appointment to speak with the Council."

"Ma'am?" Vaughn was puzzled.

"Do not ask me, for I have not been told anything." Capt. Vincent spoke primly, with her usual eschewal of contractions.

"Yes, ma'am." Vaughn nodded. "I suppose I'll be traveling to Washington, to use the QEC and speak with them remotely?"

"No." She handed him the folder. Vaughn opened it, and found that it contained the necessary paperwork for off-world travel. "They would like to speak to you in-person. You will be boarding a ship tomorrow, bound for the Serpent Nebula."

~#~#~#~

Author's Note: The concept of a biotic surgeon is something I thought up, but I think it seems feasible. I know working with a bunch of original characters might not appeal to a lot of readers, but hopefully they'll be interesting enough..

Anyway, as always, reviews are greatly appreciated. Keelah se'lai!


	3. The Cathedral

Author's Note: I realize it's been a little over a month since the last update, and I'll try to get a little bit better about that. My bad!

Any and all reviews are greatly appreciated!

~#~#~#~

CHAPTER THREE: The Cathedral

Lt. Daniel Vaughn stood on the port observation deck of the SSV Talavera, staring into the shifting haze of the ship's FTL bubble. As he watched, it had occurred to him that the last time he was aboard a space-faring vessel was nearly eight years ago. He had been fresh out of N7 training then – eager to serve the Alliance, and itching to demonstrate his abilities in combat. And then the Reapers came. Relative to most conflicts in history, the Reaper War was quite short, but it left behind an astonishing body count and a devastated galaxy. Vaughn's eagerness for battle had not lasted long.

"FTL core disengaged." A voice called out over the ship's intercom. "Approaching the Charon Relay."

There was a feeling of rapid deceleration as the universe outside the viewport took on a more familiar appearance. A single Alliance cruiser glided silently on patrol between the Talavera and the relay, her hull silhouetted against the relay's luminous eezo core.

"_They can only spare a single cruiser…" _Vaughn lamented to himself the scarcity of Alliance ships. The frigate veered past the cruiser on its approach to the relay, giving Vaughn the briefest of glimpses before the change in approach vector blocked his view. It was truly amazing – unlike most things left standing in the galaxy, the reconstructed relays were among the few things that appeared unchanged. He had read the reports: after the Crucible fired, crews were sent to inspect the damaged relays. But to their surprise, they found fragments of the gyroscopic rings hovering stationary around a depleted eezo core. After such a violent explosion, it was expected that the rings would have scattered in all directions into the void, but approximately two hundred feet from the relay, they had inexplicably stopped. The construction material of the rings remained a mystery, but it became apparent that there was no complicated circuitry inside. Reassembling them only required precision welding, but a tremendous supply of element zero was needed to replenish the core. The process was conceptually simple, and yet it was incredibly resource-intensive – in all likelihood, this was the reason why so much of the relay network still remained dark.

The Talavera shuddered slightly as it was ensnared by the mass relay's pull. There came a quiet humming noise emanating from the hull itself, and in an instant, the empty space outside the viewport changed.

"Mass relay jump successful." The intercom crackled once more.

Through the viewport, the luminous clouds of the Serpent Nebula cast dancing shadows throughout the observation deck. A single asari dreadnought and two turian frigates hovered on patrol, and the Talavera came to a halt so that the proper pass codes could be transmitted to the Council ships. Vaughn looked past them.

"_There it is…"_ Not far from the mass relay, the eerie figure of the Citadel with its outstretched arms seemed to beckon to the waiting ships. Two of those arms were held only in place by tethers, having detached from the main ring of the Presidium when the Crucible fired. Vaughn had heard rumors that plans were being made to reconstruct the massive station, but it was evidently not a high priority. Officially, this was due to a lack of resources, but Vaughn suspected that people were still wary of the Citadel.

In the final days of the war, the Reapers had captured the Citadel and brought it to Earth. But afterwards, details emerged that key Citadel defenses were deactivated…by the Citadel itself. The station's undiscovered core had housed a Reaper AI that turned the Battle of the Serpent Nebula into a one-sided bloodbath. For months, refugees had streamed to the Citadel in droves seeking safety, filling the great haven to capacity. But above Earth, that shelter became a charnel house.

"_Too many ghosts." _The Talavera began to veer away from the Council ships, and the FTL drive began to fire up once more – to Bekenstein, the new seat of power in the galaxy.

~#~#~#~

"Not pretty, is it?" asked the shuttle pilot. "This used to be the capital. But believe it or not, they've done a decent job cleaning it up. You should look at some of the other cities here – or rather, what's left of them."

As the shuttle passed through the clouds above Bekenstein, Vaughn was able to take a better look at the landscape. Bekenstein was a world conquered by the Reapers when they captured the Citadel. But rather than send landing parties to harvest the population, they chose to bombard it from orbit instead. Craters marred the countryside, and the rubble heaps from this height were reminiscent of ancient burial mounds.

"I took shore leave here a few times, back when this was an Alliance planet." The pilot continued when Vaughn didn't respond. "But after the war, the galaxy needed a new seat of government, so the Council purchased the entire thing. It was quite cheap too, I hear. It's a real buyer's market these days."

The shuttle touched down on landing pad north of the ruined city. The landscape here was less ravaged, having once been part of a great forest as evidenced by trees which ringed the perimeter. On a hill to the west, a burgeoning city was beginning to flourish, its neoteric sheen reminding Vaughn of New Albany. Further north of this spaceport and city, there was a mountain range that stretched from east to west as far as the eye could see. And built into the mountainside closest to the spaceport, a gleaming white monolith of a building loomed above them.

"Welcome to the Cathedral, lieutenant." The pilot stepped beside Vaughn and they both gazed up at the ivory pillar. The sound of footsteps tore Vaughn away from his reverie, as two Council Security officers walked onto the landing pad. They beckoned, and led Vaughn down to a staircase and an underground railway.

'The Cathedral' wasn't an official name. After the restoration of the Council, the building had simply been named the 'High Council Chambers', rather than name it 'The Citadel' and dredge up unpleasant memories. Bekenstein was chosen as the home planet, due to the fact that the Serpent Nebula was still the nexus of the relay network. The planet had originally housed many of the galaxy's richest human tycoons and entrepreneurs, one of whom had evidently built a massive bunker into a mountainside. Apparently he had never gotten the chance to use it, for the rediscovered Bekenstein was a graveyard and the bunker had been abandoned. And so, the Council had appropriated it as their new meeting place. The long-dead architect of the bunker had spent an exorbitant amount of money decorating his masterpiece, particularly the main hall: marble pillars, high-arched ceilings, and artificial lights through colorfully tinted windows. Nobody knew whether the effect was intentional, but it gave many humans the distinct impression of a cathedral, much like the antique buildings that had existed on Earth. The nickname became so prevalent among humans that some aliens had begun to adopt it as well.

"Lieutenant Daniel Vaughn?" As Vaughn stepped from the subway car, he was greeted by a cheerful female voice. He looked up, and his mouth nearly dropped open in momentary shock.

A young woman stood on the platform, smiling. She had shoulder-length auburn hair, and freckled alabaster skin beneath a pair of vibrant green eyes. For a moment, Vaughn wanted to speak the name that jumped to his lips, but he quickly caught himself. This woman was too young, slightly shorter, and did not possess the lean strength of the woman known as 'hero' throughout the galaxy. Despite the striking resemblance, this was not the deceased Commander Shepard.

"I'm Councilor Adrienne Chevalier – I'm pleased to make your acquaintance." She offered a hand and Vaughn shook it, rushing to recompose himself.

"Councilor? I wasn't aware that Councilor Boyle had stepped down."

"Well, technically he hasn't retired yet, but they should be making the official announcement in the next few days. But you don't need to worry; I've already taken over most of his duties." She led him away from the platform and through several security checkpoints manned by grim-faced C-Sec officers. They then came to an elevator through which they descended even further into the mountain. "The building above ground is used as a living quarters for the various councilors and diplomats that reside here." Councilor Chevalier explained. "You'll need to wait in the Council Hall for a short period while we discuss preliminary issues. It shouldn't be too long, I promise." She flashed him a dazzling smile.

"I still haven't been told what any of this is about." Vaughn replied. "I'd really like to know what I'm getting myself into before I meet the Council."

"I wish I could. Unfortunately, the whole matter is quite classified, and the Council doesn't want anything discussed outside of the Assembly Room. Don't worry though, nobody's expecting you to come prepared." Vaughn resisted the urge to probe further, even though the frustration of being left in the dark was beginning to truly irk him. However, he figured there was no point in fishing for information when the truth was soon to be freely given.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing the massive hall for which the Cathedral had received its nickname. There were yet more C-Sec officers here standing silently between the columns, but unlike the guards at the railway station, they were unarmed. Diplomats and aides of nearly every galactic race were present, bustling in and out of the hall's side meeting rooms and casually chatting beneath the high arches.

"I'll send your omni-tool a message when it's time, and then you'll need to head through those large doors at the opposite end of the hall. Don't wander too far!" With a final wave, she pushed into the crowd and was gone.

Vaughn walked into the hall, unsure of what he was supposed to do next; he was a soldier in a sea of politicians. Remembering that the Citadel's Presidium had a bar, he began to wonder if one of the hall's side rooms had a place he could get a drink.

"I have a sneaking suspicion that our Councilor Chevalier isn't a natural redhead." A female turian had come alongside Vaughn, matching his gait. "Your human politicians are certainly eager to remind us of the legendary Commander Shepard." She shrugged. "But maybe I'm wrong; I'm not terribly familiar with the hair that you humans possess."

Vaughn stopped, and turned to look at her. She was about his height, and wore the common wide-collared suit that most turians wore. Her carapace was a yellowish color, but when it caught the light, her metallic turian flesh sparkled slightly, giving her an almost golden appearance. Streaks of blue traced the rim of her eyes and down the bridge of her flat nose. She smiled – or at least Vaughn hoped it was a smile, for the rows of turian fangs were a disconcerting sight.

"I take it you don't like our new human councilor?" He asked cautiously.

"On the contrary, I think she's one of the most tolerable people here." She started forward again, tacitly forcing Vaughn to follow her. "She may appear kind and sweet, but she's not afraid to bear her talons – metaphorically, of course." The turian chuckled. "It's nice to have a new face down here, and it's especially nice to have another soldier around." It took Vaughn a moment to realize she was referring to him.

"You know who I am?"

"I've never seen you before in my life. But you're clearly not a politician – you've got 'soldier' written all over you." She halted, and gave him a formal turian salute. "Nyla Amentrius, of Palaven's Fifth Cabal."

"Lieutenant Daniel Vaughn, Systems Alliance Civil Security." Vaughn returned the salute. "Cabal? A biotic? What's an elite soldier like you doing here?"

"Did you happen to notice the C-Sec officers in this section?" Nyla gestured to the silent, unarmed guards standing across the hall. "Anything more than a stun baton is strictly forbidden this far into Council Chambers. Of course, the councilors still worry, so who better to protect you than a living weapon? Nobody talks about it, but every councilor secretly hires a biotic with military experience onto their aide staff. I'm pretty sure I can point them all out to you too." She chuckled.

"Why all the concern? Are they expecting trouble?"

"Nothing specific. But you remember your pre-Crucible history: first the Geth attacked, then Cerberus, then finally the Reapers themselves. The council escaped death the first two times, but they weren't so lucky during that final attack." She drew a finger horizontally across her neck to emphasize the point.

"Still seems a little paranoid, if you ask me."

"They're politicians, what can you expect?"

"It doesn't exactly match up to the 'golden age of peace and cooperation' they like to go on about." Vaughn commented wryly.

Nyla glanced about to make sure nobody could overhear, and then leaned in closer. "The Council isn't exactly a unified front. I suppose you remember back when the Council was restored to power?"

Vaughn paused to think. During the war, there had been four races on the council: asari, salarian, turian, and human. But when the council reformed, they made the decision to include all other races that possessed a stable government: elcor, volus, quarian, krogan, hanar, and even the drell were given their own councilor. The only races missing were the vorcha who had lost all contact with their home planet when the relays went dark, and the batarians who were nearly extinct. Billions of batarians had died when the Reapers first entered the galaxy, and when most of the survivors had fled to the Citadel, they too perished as the Reapers took the Serpent Nebula. The few that were left either drifted aimlessly or settled in small colonies on the planets of other races that would tolerate them. It was an ignoble end for a species, and Vaughn couldn't help but feel pity, despite historical batarian-human tensions.

"Yeah, I remember. The asari, salarians, turians, and humans all agreed to form a council comprised of ten races."

"Well, it was hardly a unanimous decision." Nyla confided quietly. "You humans brought up the idea, and the Turian Hierarchy supported it, mainly because of how your people helped us during the war. But the salarians didn't like that idea at all. Unlike everybody else, they came out of the Reaper War mostly intact, since the Reapers never got the chance to assault Sur'Kesh directly. They weren't too keen on having their political power diluted through expansion of the Council. The asari, meanwhile, were undecided. On some level they agreed with the salarians, the two being the oldest races in the galaxy. Too often, they see the rest of us as children. But when it became apparent that political gridlock prevented anything from getting done, the asari decided to break the tie and vote with the turians and humans."

"I've never heard any of that before."

"Don't worry too much, it's not like civil war is likely to break out or anything. But that division in the Council still exists to this day. The other races are glad to be on the Council of course, but the elcor, hanar, and drell still tend to vote with the asari and the salarians. Meanwhile, voting with the turians and humans, there are the volus, quarians, and krogan. The volus naturally follow the turians, while the actions of a certain human during the war earned the gratitude of many quarians and krogans."

"Commander Shepard…"

"Councilor Chevalier is extremely competent, don't get me wrong." Nyla crossed her arms "But I imagine her resemblance to the late commander played a role when the Alliance picked her. You'll never stop rubbing that whole 'saved the galaxy' thing in our faces, will you?" Her tone was slightly mocking, and she nudged him playfully. "But I guess we're glad to have you humans as political allies."

"And to think that a few decades ago, your people and mine were on the brink of total war." Vaughn replied.

"We live in exciting times…" They stopped at a bench, and proceeded to sit and watch people pass by. Every few minutes, Nyla would surreptitiously point out a particular diplomat or aide and mention a few interesting tidbits, or provide some insight into how they were a part of the galaxy's political patchwork.

Nyla had just been in the middle of pointing out an aide who was likely the volus councilor's biotic bodyguard, when she abruptly stopped. There was a brief commotion in the middle of the hall, as a male quarian collided with two asari diplomats, scattering the data pads they had been carrying across the floor.

"I-I-" The quarian stammered, unable to finish his apology. One of the asari diplomats shook her head in exasperation, waving her hand away so that he would simply leave.

"Now there's a guy with an interesting story." Nyla leaned forward in her seat.

"Who is he?"

"Does the name Ranid'Xola vas Turelia mean anything to you?"

"That's him?" Vaughn's eyebrows widened. It was hard to tell quarians apart due to the similarity of enviro-suits that they wore. Ranid's suit was the standard black, accented by green straps and plating.

"Yeah, that's him all right. The 'Savior of the Serpent Nebula'..."

When the Reapers conquered the Serpent Nebula, they obliterated the defending Council fleets and mercilessly bombarded Bekenstein. Only one ship had barely survived – a quarian ship, the Turelia. Reportedly, the entire starboard section of the ship had been torn off, and all ship systems including life support were taken offline to hide from Reaper sensors. Ranid and three other crewmembers were the only survivors, barely kept alive by shared oxygen tanks for their suits. Days passed as the ship slowly lost heat to the near-absolute zero temperatures of space. By the time the Crucible fired, Ranid was the only one left, half-frozen and low on oxygen.

The Serpent Nebula was the heart of the galaxy, linking together the homeworlds of most council races. If its relay could not be repaired, it would take decades for an expedition at FTL speeds to travel there. In fact, there had been the very real danger that the surviving turian and quarian fleets in Alliance space would starve, unable to eat human foods due to their different biology. Ranid'Xola, the sole survivor of the Serpent Nebula, spent a full year and a half salvaging eezo and repairing the mass relay's rings – all alone.

"He spent over a year by himself in a sea of wrecked ships and dead friends; I guess it really did a number on him." Nyla observed. "He clearly isn't comfortable around people, but the quarian councilor put him on his staff, just to keep him around for press conferences and public appearances."

"For a soldier, you seem to have a pretty good understanding of the political workings here." Vaughn commented.

"Well, they only keep me around to protect Councilor Valius. When the Council's in session, I don't have much else to do." She shrugged. "I don't mind it too much. I watch and I listen. I like to identify all the hidden pieces, and find out all the rules to their little games. But, I will admit, this isn't exactly how I wanted to spend the rest of my military career."

"It doesn't seem like there will be any conflicts any time soon. You aren't going to miss out on much." Vaughn tried to reassure her, but Nyla only laughed.

"You're far more optimistic than any soldier has a right to be." Abruptly, there came a beeping noise from the device around Vaughn's wrist. He activated his omni-tool and read the brief message, confirming his suspicions. "You better not keep them waiting." Nyla said, glancing over his shoulder. "Good luck, and I hope we get the chance to meet again, Lt. Vaughn."

~#~#~#~

The Council Assembly Room was spacious, much larger than was necessary for a room that typically only held ten councilors. A wide hemispherical table sat in the middle of the room, with the flat edge facing the entrance so that when Vaughn entered, all ten seated councilors faced him. Vaughn's footsteps echoed as he walked to a stainless steel podium a few feet from the table, uncomfortably aware that everybody in the room was staring at him in silence. He noticed a single guest sitting in the observer's section – it was Amari Draylos. As Vaughn caught her gaze, she gave an encouraging smile. He arrived at the podium and Councilor Chevalier was the first to speak.

"Thank you for joining us Lt. Vaughn." He nodded, scanning the faces of the councilors sitting at the table. Vaughn had no experience at reading alien facial expressions, but he was still hoping to find some evidence of amity in the room. Nyla had told him the names of all the councilors, but she assured him that only a few of the names were worth remembering. There was Councilor Valius, the turian representative, who seemed to give Vaughn an approving look. Councilor Rhela was the asari delegate, and she seemed to watch him with curiosity more than anything else. And then there was Councilor Osule. Vaughn had never seen a salarian look particularly unfriendly before, but if he had to guess as to how that appeared, the expression on Osule's face was the best fit. Nyla had told him a little bit about the salarian councilor. She was the dalatrass of her clan, who had brilliantly maneuvered their way to power shortly after the war. Sur'Kesh was the richest post-war homeworld in the galaxy, and Osule never missed an opportunity to use that to her advantage.

"Before we begin, we should mention that everything revealed here today is strictly confidential." Councilor Rhela declared, in the slightly musical tones that many asari tended to speak with. "Failure to abide by this will incur strict measures. Do you accept?" Vaughn hesitated, but he nodded. He knew he didn't directly answer to the Council, but the Systems Alliance would surely discipline him if he leaked anything.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves." A voice spoke bitterly – it was Councilor Osule. "We have not yet confirmed that Lt. Vaughn is our candidate."

"We've had our preliminary votes, and everybody here has seen his military records." Councilor Chevalier protested. "By all means, let us observe protocol, but at this point we all know that this is just a formality."

"Oh? And what if the military records are incomplete?" Councilor Osule turned to Vaughn and smiled at him condescendingly. "Lt. Vaughn, tell us about 'Glen Alpine', if you please."

Councilor Chevalier opened her mouth, but no words escaped her lips – her expression a mixture of shock and bewilderment. Vaughn himself was taken aback, but he could feel a cold anger, fueling him to speak.

"What happened at Glen Alpine is none of your damn business."

"The Battle of Glen Alpine is classified, and irrelevant to these proceedings." Councilor Chevalier had found her voice. "And I would ask how the salarian government managed to get a hold of such information."

"By all accounts, Lt. Vaughn was the most senior officer present. The Earth resistance in that sector suffered a terrible defeat with heavy losses. And I can only guess that the memory of such a terrible defeat haunts Lt. Vaughn to this day, for why else would he run to 'Civil Security' when the war ended?" She had pronounced 'Civil Security' with disdain. "And Councilor Chevalier, you forget – plenty found themselves stranded on Earth when the Reapers came, salarians included. People hear rumors when gross incompetence leads to a devastating defeat." Vaughn clenched his fists, his rage beginning to boil. Councilor Osule was insulting him, knowing full well that Vaughn was unable to provide his side of the story. The other councilors at the table were giving each other unsure looks. Amari was looking similarly concerned, and Vaughn could only guess at the thoughts that were passing through her mind.

"I cannot comment about the events of Glen Alpine." Vaughn finally announced through gritted teeth.

"How unfortunate. Perhaps now we should vote regarding the candidacy of Lt. Daniel Vaughn?"

"Lt. Vaughn, you have full authorization to speak of Glen Alpine." Councilor Chevalier interjected hastily.

"Ma'am?" Vaughn wasn't sure he had heard correctly. Only the admirals were allowed to authorize the release of such information.

"You are free to reveal anything you believe is relevant to the council. I will handle the consequences." **There** was the key phrase: _'Relevant to the council'_. Vaughn wasn't being given free rein to reveal everything, but just enough to put the council at ease. He cleared his throat.

"Glen Alpine is-…was the name of a small town. It was two months into the invasion, and things were going as well as you might expect. The Reapers…you could fight off their ground troops easily enough, but their Destroyers? All you could do against them was run, and we were tired of running. We had rescued some Alliance scientists who had theories on how to weaken the Reaper armor with an experimental weapon. And then there was this Reaper Destroyer we tracked, in the vicinity of Glen Alpine. I had my resistance fighters fan out to buy the scientists as much time as possible, as they charged their weapon."

Vaughn wasn't the type to have nightmares about what he saw during the war, but the guilt of Glen Alpine still haunted him. He took a deep breath.

"My soldiers bought us time with their lives, all 63 of them. But in the end, the experimental weapon didn't work." His gaze shifted to make eye contact with each councilor at the table. "I take full responsibility for every man and woman I lost. But I've never forgotten what I learned that day."

"And that is?" asked Councilor Osule. Vaughn fixed her with a cold stare.

"I will never underestimate my enemy."

There was a tense silence.

"Well said, well said! Words for all of us to live by!" A hoarse chuckle broke the quiet. Councilor Urdnot Bakara, the krogan representative was grinning wolfishly. "The Alliance classifies a mission because of an experimental weapon – this is nothing unusual."

"In war, gambles must be made." Councilor Valius spoke. "To fight the Reapers, we also pinned all our hopes on a single experimental weapon. But we were fortunate that the Crucible worked." Folding her arms, Councilor Osule said nothing, but eyed Vaughn warily. He also said nothing. There had been more to that day at Glen Alpine, much more. But that was a secret the Alliance intended to keep, and he had said enough already.

"Well," There was a visible look of relief on Councilor Chevalier's face. "Now that this is cleared up, we can proceed. Miss Draylos, I believe we're ready for you." Amari stepped forward, and activated her omni-tool. An emitter built into the ceiling hummed to life, and in the air above the council table, a large projection of the galaxy map appeared. Red and blue lights were dotted throughout the spiral. Vaughn studied them for a moment before he understood their meaning: blue lights were known active mass relays and red lights belonged to derelict ones. The blue lights were much more common in Council and Alliance space, but there were also a couple scattered around Rannoch on the opposite side of the galaxy – the crucial relay of the Caleston Rift linked them together. However, red lights clearly outnumbered the blue, as most of the Terminus Systems and Attican Traverse were inaccessible.

"Lt. Vaughn, I assume you have heard of the recent Alliance expedition to the Arcturus Stream?" asked Amari.

Vaughn nodded. The Arcturus Stream was a star system that had never fixed its relay after the war. But since the distance between Earth and Arcturus was less than forty light-years, it was feasible for an expeditionary force to travel there at FTL speeds. The journey had nearly taken a year, but it was ultimately successful. Vaughn could still remember the celebrations in New Albany when the Alliance expedition returned through the Charon relay.

"No doubt, you heard of the Alliance's success." Amari continued. "But not everything about the expedition was made public. This is a vid that was taken of the relay when the expeditionary force first arrived, before they even did anything." She activated a single command on her omni-tool, and the projection switched to show the Arcturus Relay.

For a moment, Vaughn couldn't believe his eyes. At first, it appeared like any other functioning relay. But as he looked closer, there were noticeable differences: the two gyroscopic rings were not fully attached together, and were revolving at speeds much slower than normal. Additionally, the element zero core of the relay was dimmer and much smaller. The relay wasn't at full operating capacity, but it was very nearly repaired.

"I thought there were no survivors in the Arcturus Stream." Vaughn turned to Councilor Chevalier, wondering if the presence of survivors was an Alliance-kept secret.

"There weren't any." Amari responded simply. "This is just a theory for now, but it's supported by other data we've seen. Slowly but surely, the relays are repairing themselves."

~#~#~#~

Author's Note: I actually was planning to write the entire Council session in this chapter, but I was already approaching 5k words, and I didn't want to make things too long. Also, before anybody mentions, I know C-Sec originally stands for "Citadel Security", but I imagine "Council Security" would abbreviate the same way, and be a bit more familiar to people.

Also, Glen Alpine is an event during the Reaper War I created as part of Vaughn's backstory. It'll likely come up again…


End file.
